Binky and the Bear
by DinerGuy
Summary: Of course, it was Spencer's fault Lassiter was in a humiliating situation—again... What in the world was he supposed to say to a group of snotty-nosed six-year-olds?


_A/N: Set sometime before the Psych series finale. Standard disclaimers apply. Thanks to Koohii Kappu on Psychfic for the beta!_

* * *

Of course, it was Spencer's fault Lassiter was in a humiliating situation—again.

Lassiter had never had any intention of going near that place—ever. O'Hara usually took care of these details, but Spencer had decided to drag home some kind of flu-like disease, and O'Hara had come down with it too. Which was great. Just great.

What in the world was he supposed to say to a group of snotty-nosed six-year-olds?

He was grumbling to himself as he pulled into an empty parking space. What was the big deal with telling a first-grade class about being a cop anyway? It wasn't like they were old enough to make any logical, informed life choices about their careers. Granted, it _was_ always a good idea to head off any criminal tendencies at an early age, but Lassiter wasn't sure this particular assignment fell under his job description as head detective. However, it wasn't up to him; it was up to the chief, and she'd insisted Lassiter fill in for his partner. So here he was.

He checked in with the right people, was pointed in the right direction, and soon found himself at the front of a small classroom. Twenty pairs of small eyes watched him from their desks.

"Now class," the teacher, a petite redhead with glasses, began, "we have a _very_ special treat today! Detective Lassiter is from the Santa Barbara Police Department, and he is here to talk to us about his job!"

Lassiter glanced over and gave her his best glare when he realized she was watching him more closely than she was her class. She'd been doing so since he walked in the door, and he didn't think Marlowe would approve of the younger woman's flirtatious smiles. He twisted his ring in what he hoped was a meaningful manner and cleared his throat.

It must have worked because the teacher quickly turned back to her class. "Detective Lassiter is going to tell us all about what it means to be a policeman!"

Several hands shot up at that, but before the teacher could call on any of the students, an older woman poked her head in the room. The teacher held up a hand in a "wait a minute" gesture and then moved to speak with her quietly.

Suddenly left alone at the front of the class, Lassiter cleared his throat. He supposed he needed to figure out how to begin with the group of youngsters in front of him. Although he'd rehearsed a few lines in the car, nothing he'd practiced seemed to be right to say in the moment. He finally cleared his throat and started to speak, only to be interrupted as the teacher turned back to him.

She motioned with her hand for him to turn away from the kids and, in a hushed tone, said, "I'm sorry, Detective, but the principal needs to talk to me about something. I promise it won't take long; I just need to step outside. Do you mind managing this on your own for a few minutes?"

That was the last thing Lassiter was expecting to hear, and it sent his stomach into knots. _Of course_ he minded. What was she? Crazy? What in the world was he supposed to do to keep these rugrats entertained without their usual authority present?

He opened his mouth to tell her as much, but somehow, Lassiter's horrified ears processed his next words as he said them. "Of course I don't mind. Take your time." Where it had come from, he had no idea, but now it was out there and he couldn't take it back.

The teacher smiled. "Great, thank you. I'll be right back."

As the teacher left the room, Lassiter turned slowly to face the kids once again.

They all stared back at him silently.

"Right." Lassiter clapped his hands together. "So…" Where did he start?

"Um, excuse me." This from a chunky kid with glasses in the front row. What were that kid's parents feeding him anyway? "Detective Lassiter, sir?"

Well, Lassiter couldn't fault the kid's manners, whatever else was wrong with the picture. "Yes? You in the glasses," he called on the boy in the best teacher voice he could muster. Lassiter was actually quite proud of it.

"Bobby," the boy provided.

Nodding, Lassiter cleared his throat. "Yes, Bobby?"

"Have you ever shot somebody?"

"Why," Lassiter crossed his arms proudly, "yes. Yes, I have."

Several kids around the room gasped. Glancing around, Lassiter could see all of their eyes were wide with awe and shock at his answer to Bobby's question.

"Was he bad?" Bobby wanted to know.

Lassiter frowned. "Who?"

"The guy you shot."

"Well, of course," Lassiter chuckled. "I wouldn't shoot anyone who didn't deserve it."

Bobby nodded seriously. "Oh," he replied as if that answered every question he'd ever had. But then, a moment later, he spoke up again. "What did he do?"

It would be easy to regale these kids with tales of every drug dealer and murderer Lassiter had ever apprehended, but before he could begin any of those stories, there was a little voice in the back of his mind. It sounded suspiciously like O'Hara, and it warned him that was _not_ the sort of thing that would get the SBPD ever invited back to this school again. As much as Lassiter never wanted to do one of these appearances again, he was also fairly certain that the surest way to head off career criminals was to show them strong role models—or at least, show them what they'd be up against if they did break the law—and that couldn't be accomplished if the school never invited any of the force back for future visits.

Instead, rather than a story of the kind of crime he fought on the streets every day, Lassiter reached a little further back in his mental files and pulled out the one occurrence that was sure to captivate the students' attention.

"Well, one time," he began, "I was in a gunfight with a desperado on the streets of Old Sonora."

Whispers rippled through the room. Bobby's mouth dropped open, and more than one little kid shifted in their seat to lean forward, elbows on their desks and eyes wider than before.

"A dirty, rotten desperado?" Bobby asked in awe.

Lassiter nodded. "He was out to destroy the town and even tried to frame the sheriff for murder."

More whispers and a squeal came from various kids around the classroom.

"Real murder?" a little girl on the third row asked in a high-pitched voice.

The question made Lassiter frown. Of course a real murder. What did this kid think, that he was talking in metaphors? Why would someone have framed Hank for a fake murder?

Before he could respond, however, Bobby turned and leveled a look at his classmate. "Don't be silly," he told her. "Detective Lassiter wouldn't be worried about a murder that didn't actually happen." Then he swiveled back in his seat and returned his gaze to Lassiter.

Lassiter was starting to like this kid.

"So what happened?" a small boy near the back asked. "Did he get shotted?"

All eyes turned back to Lassiter at that question.

Glancing around the room at all of the students watching him with rapt attention, Lassiter couldn't help feeling a sense of pride in the fact that he could answer the kid's question in the affirmative. It had been one of the biggest accomplishments of Lassiter's career to take down the man intent on destroying a place the detective had held dear since his youth. He smiled. "Yes," he replied, nodding at the boy.

"What happened?" another kid asked.

Lassiter cleared his throat and tugged on his suit coat. "Well, you see, the criminal had discovered the town had gold he could keep for himself if he chased everyone away. He tried to make it look like the sheriff had killed a man, but then I discovered that Sheriff Hank's gun only shot blanks."

The class blinked at him.

"Uh, bullets that aren't actually real," he explained quickly.

A chorus of "oh"s followed.

"And so there I was, standing at one end of the street, the criminal at the other end. As part of the show that the town put on for visitors, there was a fake shootout in the street every day between Pete and Sheriff Hank, where they pretended to be enemies for the sake of the show. Only this time, Pete really was a bad guy, and this shootout was for real."

Several of the children gasped at that.

"Did he shoot you?" Bobby asked breathlessly.

Lassiter raised an eyebrow. "He tried, but I was faster. I beat him to the draw and shot him right there in the street like the low-down desperado he was."

A small squeal and a smattering of "whoa"s and "ooh"s could be heard mixed in among the rows.

Lassiter nodded proudly. "Once Pete was arrested, Sheriff Hank could claim the gold that was rightfully his and keep Old Sonora open for the happiness of children everywhere."

No sooner had he finished his sentence, then every hand in the class was suddenly in the air. The students started clamoring to ask questions, and Lassiter blinked at the sudden commotion. Before he could call on any one of them, however, there was a voice from the direction of the doorway.

Lassiter turned as the kids all fell silent. The teacher was just coming back into the classroom, and, judging from the smile on her face, he would guess she hadn't heard most of his story. He could suddenly hear his partner's voice in his head, chiding him for the tale he'd just relayed to these youngsters. Personally, Lassiter thought the real-world knowledge was good for them, but his mental O'Hara disagreed quite vehemently.

"Well, it looks like you had this handled quite nicely while I was out!" the teacher chirped, smiling at Lassiter. "Thank you so much for watching them for me; I'm sorry about leaving you like that."

"Oh, no trouble at all," Lassiter replied—and he was surprised to find that he actually meant the words.

The teacher smiled and turned to the rest of the room. "Class," she said, clapping her hands together, "what do we say to Detective Lassiter?"

"Thank you," the students echoed, grinning up at Lassiter.

"Can you come back again soon?" Bobby piped up, waving his hand in the air as if he had a question but not waiting for his teacher to call on him.

"Yeah!" another boy yelled, and then the rest of the class chimed in to echo the sentiment.

Their teacher raised her hands for quiet. "Looks like you made quite the impression," she said over her shoulder with a wink at Lassiter. Then she turned back to her students. "Perhaps we can have Detective Lassiter back for another visit sometime soon," she told them. "Now, let's all get our readers out."

Lassiter gave the class a wave. "See you later, kids."

"Bye, Detective Lassiter!" they all chorused as he stepped out of the room.

As he made his way down the hall back toward the exit, Lassiter hid a smile. That had gone over a lot better than he'd planned. He might even have to take over this one particular school from O'Hara now… Who knew "Lassiter's Story Time" had such a nice ring to it? After all, you really couldn't start too early in discouraging a life of crime.

* * *

 _Fin._


End file.
